The Consorts of Death

30

All roads lead to Rome, they say. But they were wrong. In my part of the world, all roads lead to the bar at Sunnfjord Hotel. Especially during these days when Forde is at the centre of news in what must be the biggest sensation since Alesund burnt down, judging by the media frenzy. The place was swarming with reporters, inside and outside the hotel, and most of them ended up in the bar, as they are wont to do.

After dinner in the hotel dining room — roast venison with sprouts and cranberry sauce — I took a pile of newspapers and slunk off to a free table in the spacious bar. I started carefully with a pot of coffee and a glass of Line aquavit. It wasn’t long before I had company.

Jens Langeland came into the foyer, looked around ignoring all the press people who started waving their arms to attract his attention, caught sight of me, made a gesture and came in my direction. ‘Alright if I sit here, Veum?’

‘Course. We have a lot to talk about.’

He nodded. I noticed that he looked tired, and I wondered how early he had set off from Oslo today. He signalled to the bartender and ordered a coffee and a cognac. He glanced at my glass, which was as good as empty. ‘Can I offer you another, Veum?’

‘Certainly can. Thank you.’

‘What are you drinking?’

‘Loiten Line. They didn’t have my regular tipple.’

He raised his eyebrows, but made no further comment about the choice. For himself, he chose a cognac from the top shelf, from where he was used to gathering his trophies.

‘Now,’ he said. ‘You had something new to tell me about the events of 1974, you said.’

‘Yes. You didn’t ask Jan Egil about it?’

‘No, not with the sergeant present.’ He ran his hand across his face. ‘It was the same as always. Flogging a point to death. The police asked the same questions again and again, in the hope that the witness would contradict himself. On top of that, we had the KRIPOS officers with us.’

‘I see. Did they have anything to bring to the case?’

‘It’s too early to say. They’re still at the information-gathering stage. Detectives are going from farm to farm to ask if people have anything to say, if they have seen or heard anything, and alongside that they’re making general assessments of Jan Egil, the Libakk couple and Silje Tveiten. But what we’re all waiting for now, of course, is the results of the forensics examination.’

‘And when are they expected?’

‘We haven’t been given a clear date yet.’

‘But I have something to tell you, Langeland.’

‘Yes, you said that.’

‘Yes, but about this case, too.’

I paused as the bartender came over to serve us. When everything was in place and we had said skal for the first time, I went on: ‘The murder victim Klaus Libakk was involved in the big contraband racket in 1973 when Silje’s father was murdered and Terje Hammersten was being fingered as the culprit.’

‘Whoa there, Veum. One thing at a time. Klaus Libakk was involved in the smuggling affair?’

‘Yes.’

I suddenly became aware of a guy in his late thirties sitting alone at the adjacent table. He was dark-haired with a bloated face and drunken eyes. He was clinging to a glass and staring ahead, with such rigid attention that I drew the conclusion he was either pissed and/or intensely following our conversation.

I lowered my voice still further and leaned across to Langeland. In succinct terms, I repeated what Haugen had told me an hour and a half earlier.

Langeland listened until I had finished without commenting. Then he got down to brass tacks. ‘This would actually suggest that Silje Tveiten can be said to have a motive.’

‘That presupposes at least three things, Langeland. First of all, that the rumours are true, about Libakk’s involvement, I mean. Secondly, that he had something to do with the murder of Ansgar Tveiten, and thirdly that Silje had somehow discovered this connection, and this was a case that the police had been forced to give up on. Pretty unlikely, if you ask me. The last presupposition, anyway. We’ll have to investigate the first two, of course.’

Langeland bent forward with an intense expression in his eyes. ‘Could you see your way to doing that, Veum? For me?’

‘Investigating these questions, you mean?’

‘Yes.’

‘No problem. I’ve worked for lawyers before, Langeland.’

‘I pay well. Money is no object.’

I passed my hand over the table. ‘We have a deal then. When shall I begin?’

He quickly shook my hand. ‘The sooner, the better.’

‘Regard me as hired from this minute. In that case I can tell you something else. You remember Mette Olsen, Jan Egil’s real mother?’

‘I certainly do. I represented her years ago. Where is this leading?’

‘Did you know that she’s moved to Jolster?’

‘To Jolster!’

‘Barely an hour’s drive from here. By Kjosnes fjord. I’m planning to look her up tomorrow. Are you interested in what might come out of the visit?’

‘Mette Olsen, so close to her own son… but have you checked?… This has to be a coincidence. Perhaps she has family up here.’

‘Most people in Bergen do. But I don’t believe much in coincidences, Langeland. Not when there’s a murder in their immediate vicinity anyway.’

‘No, of course not. No stone left unturned. You have my full support to visit her, but… tread warily. She’s had a tragic life.’

‘You aren’t her solicitor any more, I suppose?’

‘No, no. When I left Bergen, she must have found someone else. At any rate, I haven’t heard anything from her since then.’

‘So we have a deal on that point, too.’ I raised my glass for a skal, to seal our agreement.

‘But it was 1974 you were going to tell me about,’ he said, putting his glass down hard.

‘Yes. Jan Egil, when I was talking to him today, told me something I had never heard before. It’s about the day that Svein Skarnes died, if I can put it like that.

He leaned forward and watched me with those intense blue eyes of his, as if I were the prosecution witness in a case he was leading.

‘Jan Egil told me that on the day of Skarnes’s death in February, 1974, he was sitting in the lounge playing with his Marklin train when there was a ring at the door. The father opened and immediately a row ensued.’

‘A row. With whom?’

‘He doesn’t know. He was sitting and playing. He didn’t want to be disturbed.’

‘But there was a ring. So it wasn’t…’

‘No, probably not. In fact, Jan Egil said the same. His mum had a key after all. She wouldn’t have needed to ring.’

‘No, but she said herself at the time, I believe, that she rang first and then unlocked the door, as no one would open up.’

‘Yes, but that was later — after the fatal fall had occurred. And Jan Egil said, so far as we can trust him of course, ten years later, that it was a man’s voice he heard, apart from his father’s.’

‘A man!’ He paled visibly as the consequences of this dawned on him. ‘But then…’

‘As I said earlier today, Langeland, Vibecke Skarnes should probably have been acquitted.’

‘But why the hell did she confess? She did confess, Veum, and I never managed to persuade her to retract this confession.’

I nodded and leaned back in the chair. The man at the adjacent table waved to the bartender and ordered another whisky and soda. In ringing Bergensian tones, I noticed. ‘Just put it on the tab!’ he added.

‘There was a confession in the Hilleren case, too.’

‘Yes, but no body, Veum! We had one here. Besides…’ He hesitated.

‘We must both have wondered why she confessed, didn’t we?’

‘Indeed.’ He nodded. ‘To protect the boy. She was convinced he had done it.’

‘In fact he pushed me down the stairs straight afterwards, so the notion was not inconceivable.’

‘No, and he had bitten Skarnes until he bled a few months before. I’m sure that was the main reason why she decided not to maintain parental responsibility when she was released.’

‘She was frightened of him?’

He shrugged. ‘I’ll have to contact her. It may become relevant to consider a retrial, in my view. But… I don’t see any significance it may have for the current investigation.’

‘No, but that’s something I could examine as well, as I work my way into this case.’

He nodded. The bartender brought the glass of whisky to the neighbouring table and we took the opportunity to replenish our glasses. Langeland kept to expensive cognac. I switched to a Bloody Mary.

Several reporters were circling our table, but Langeland sent them all packing. He refused to comment on anything at all. The Bergensian at the neighbouring table seemed more alert now, as if the new drink had resuscitated him. A couple of times I saw him looking in our direction as though keen to say something. But I didn’t encourage him. On the whole I had had bad experiences with this kind of relationship in late night hotel bars.

A large shadow fell over our table, and we peered at the top of this towering figure.

‘Hi, Hans!’ said Langeland. ‘Sit yourself down before anyone else does.’

‘I’m not disturbing?’

‘No, no.’

Hans Haavik turned to the bar, gestured that he wanted a glass of beer and then sat down heavily in the free chair at the table. He glanced at me and shook his head. ‘One helluva story!’

I nodded back and looked at Langeland. ‘Hans was Libakk’s cousin and had kept tabs on Jan Egil the whole time. He was up here visiting them as late as last weekend.’

‘So I hear. We had a chat while you were in with Jan Egil.’

‘What’s your line of attack going to be then?’ Hans asked.

‘The way it looks now, there are two possible lines. The first is to take Silje at her word and exploit her confession as far as we are able. But she may have a job sticking to it herself, from what the police say. The second is to opt for unknown killers, burglars, robbers who go too far and, when they realise, flee without the spoils, terrified of being caught in the act. Not so unusual in rural areas, I regret to say. The problem is that there are no signs of a break-in, of course. It will be very interesting to hear the results of the forensic examinations, both at the crime scene and of the weapon, as well as the pathologist’s report on the bodies. In a nutshell… everything is in the air for the time being.’

Hans seemed thoughtful. ‘This Silje…’

‘Have you met her?’

‘I’ve said hello, yes. Several times. But why would she confess if she hadn’t done it?’

‘Hmm.’ Langeland sent him an inquisitorial look. ‘Why did Vibecke confess in 1974?’

‘Because she’d done it, I suppose!’

‘But now new information has emerged which suggests that was perhaps not the case. That she simply took the blame because she was sure Jan Egil had done it.’

‘Well…’ Hans glanced at me. ‘I think we all thought that was a possibility, even at the time. But she stuck to her confession with such determination.’

‘You remember yourself how headstrong she could be!’

‘Yes indeed…’

‘You both knew her from university?’ I broke in.

They nodded.

‘What did she study?’

‘She drifted a bit. Took psychology foundation, but she fell at the next hurdle and couldn’t get in. It can be terribly difficult without top grades. So she started law, but didn’t finish. That was where she was when I got to know her. And in the end she moved into your subject, didn’t she, Hans?’

‘Related. She took sociology foundation.’

I looked at Langeland. ‘Someone intimated that you and she had been a couple for a while…’

He glowered at Hans. ‘Have you been opening your big mouth again?’

‘Me?’ Hans feigned an innocent expression, which was partly torpedoed by the pink tinge to his cheeks. ‘He must have got this from a different source,’ he grumbled.

‘Veum?’

‘I protect my sources, Langeland,’ I said with a little grin. ‘But it wasn’t a million miles from the truth, was it.’

‘It was a short affair a long time ago when I was a student. It didn’t have any significance, neither for… at any rate not for the case I took on in 1974.’

‘No, because you were the family solicitor, weren’t you? I think you told me something like that.’

‘It was Svein who needed legal assistance generally. But I knew Vibecke best. She got to know Svein through Hans.’

I turned quickly to Hans. ‘But you and Vibecke never had a thing going, did you?’

His mouth fell. ‘Vibecke Storset? Well, that was her name at the time. No, Veum, we never did. She never looked in my direction as far as I can remember. Besides Svein and I were… pals then.’

For a brief instant the table went silent, and I sensed a sudden tension between the two old university chums, only for it to dissolve and us to grab our glasses, all in one movement, it seemed.

Jens Langeland put on a disarming smile. ‘But there were enough others, weren’t there, Hansie, eh? When you were sowing your wild oats at the end of the course? Swinging London and wonderful, wonderful Copenhagen, city of sin… I think we got to hear the odd story or two, we stalwarts left in the old country, didn’t we.’

Hans forced a rigid smile. ‘I returned home safe and sound, didn’t I.’

‘Yes, yes. Let’s hope so, Hans. I’ve never heard anything to the contrary…’ he smirked over his glass.

‘Listen,’ I said. ‘Something completely different. Your second cousin, Hans. Klaus Libakk. From a very reliable source I’ve heard that he was supposed to have been smuggling alcohol in the early sixties. Do you know anything about that?’

It was an evening of surprises for Hans Haavik. He shook his head. ‘Klaus? I find that hard to believe. Who said that?’

‘Well, it was mentioned as hearsay.’

‘I didn’t have much to do with Klaus and Kari at that time. It was only when Jan Egil moved in that I began to visit them regularly. After all, we were only cousins, and in my childhood I as good as never came to the Sunnfjord district. My maternal grandfather grew up here, and he moved to Bergen right after the First World War.’

‘But when you visited them, were there drinks around?’

He shrugged and grinned. ‘Well, we had a drink on Saturday nights. They weren’t teetotallers, neither Klaus nor Kari.’

‘And that was drinks from the Vinmonopol?’

‘Varg, I didn’t study the labels that closely. There has to be a limit. You know how these things are. Up here it’s often a bit of both. The result of many years of a restrictive alcohol policy, as we all know. Large production of home brew and a hotbed of smuggling. Think of the significance the prohibition period had for the development of organised crime in the States.’

‘Well, apropos of…’ I looked at my watch. ‘Time to drink up maybe? We’ve sorted out tomorrow, Langeland, haven’t we. I’ll report to you when I get back. And you, Hans, what’s on your agenda?’

‘No idea. I’ll try to contact a few more relatives. Hear what’s going on. I suppose it’ll be a long time before the bodies are released for burial, but… we should organise some kind of memorial service. And then I’ll help Jan Egil, of course, if need be. We’ll see. I’m staying here over the weekend, anyway.’

I glanced over to the nearby table. The Bergensian had come to the same conclusion as we had. Time to hit the hay. Stiff-legged, he staggered out of the bar. But he didn’t head for the part of the hotel where the rooms were. Instead he went into the foyer, opened the front door with difficulty and then disappeared into the Sunnfjord night, wherever that might take him.

Both Hans and Langeland were staying at the hotel. We parted company between the lift and the stairs. The first thing I saw when I entered the room was the message I had received from Grethe earlier: Going home to rest. Ring you later.

I dialled the reception number and asked if anyone had called for me. A grumpy night porter said no one had.

I looked at my watch. It was too late to ring her now, at any rate. I didn’t have her number, either. Perhaps she was still asleep. The sleep of the innocent, I hoped.

I let it go, undressed and crawled into bed, alone, the same as almost always. Some things change very little, no matter where in the world you are. All roads lead to Sunnfjord Hotel, I had decided, but to my room all the mountain passes were closed. There was not much else to do but wait for spring.